Saturday, November 20, 2010

He lies there under mounds of earthIn a deep, dark, cocoon,Where no wind blows, no sun shinesThe colour of his sky will always be muddy brownNever a cobalt blue, or a sky blue, or any shade of blue.Pitch dark.Cold earth.He is dead. They have put him there, Inside a coffin, wrapped in a shroudAnd have walked away, The mournersCupping their palms over their eyes.Weeping silently, for a life lived majestically. Time would heal the pain of separation, Maybe. Maybe not. But he will lie there for centuries… Amidst the sad empty fields. The distant wind will tear from the trees, The last of the leaves. And rip the earth’s skin to shredsBut he will be unmovedIn his regal repose. And through my soul centuries would pass,Like a harsh snow eddying and streaming.And memory’s many subdivisions.Will dress off their ranks in a glacial spell. Frost upon frost,Upon frost.And…for me,There is no forgetting, no forgetting.

About Me

I write-for my soul.I live like a kite on a string, attached to the threads of responsibilities,yet fly freely about by gusts of imagination and impulse.Trying to keep balance between focus and flexibility.